


Two Lives, Intertwined

by Scrawlers



Series: Paradigm Shift [3]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Reality, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Romance, proposal fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-12
Updated: 2018-04-12
Packaged: 2019-04-22 02:09:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14298453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scrawlers/pseuds/Scrawlers
Summary: Four years after their relationship becomes romantic, Lotor asks Keith to meet him at the top of the Ondynian Falls on the planet Aulbryn.





	Two Lives, Intertwined

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place four years after _Revolutionary_ , meaning that as of this fic, Keith and Lotor have been in a romantic relationship for four years (or, as they would say, decaphoebs). While it's not _strictly_ necessary to read that fic before reading this one, it still might help if you’re a bit familiar with the alternate reality this series takes place in. But still, it’s your call; you're free to do as you will either way.

The Ondynian Falls on the planet Aulbryn were as beautiful as they were terrifying, or as terrifying as they were beautiful. Keith wasn’t sure which was a better way of describing it.

Aulbryn was a mostly uninhabited planet. That wasn’t always the case; Keith didn’t know the full history, but he knew enough to know that once, long ago, there used to be countries and civilizations that thrived on Aulbryn. It was a bit hard to imagine now; the planet’s atmosphere and lack of a solar star gave it the appearance of perpetual night. But maybe that was the reason why bioluminescent life thrived on the planet’s surface. The water that rushed past Keith’s feet as he stood at the edge of the top of the waterfall glowed a brilliant blue, and as he leaned over the edge to try to catch sight of something— _anything_ —at the bottom, he saw nothing but a deep abyss that seemed littered with stars. It was as if the entire planet, despite how it had breathable air, existed at the bottom of an ocean instead. The odd creatures here or there that skittered through glowing treetops and crouched behind rocks seemed to suggest that, too.

But although the Falls seemed to cascade into nothing—although they suggested that if one were to tumble off, they’d tumble into an abyss from which they’d never return—they were still beautiful. Aulbryn, as a whole, was beautiful. Keith crouched down, and skimmed his fingers through the water. It was funny, almost; although the shallow river bubbled and gurgled as the water spilled toward the Falls, the lack of a customary  _crash_ of water at some inevitable bottom made everything feel quiet. It wasn’t completely silent, no, but it felt  _hushed_. Quieter than it should, and eerie and comforting all at once.

A handful of doboshes passed, just like that. Keith ran his fingers through the water, and strained his eyes as he looked over the edge to see if, only for a tick, he could snatch a glance at the bottom of the waterfall. But just as he was deceiving himself into thinking that he saw something— _anything_ —down at the bottom, the hushed quiet of the moment was broken by the sound of footfalls in the water behind him. On instinct he tensed, but he released it in the next tick. His reflexes had saved his life more than once, but here and now, they were unnecessary.

“Finally,” he said, and he waited until Lotor was standing just behind him before he pushed himself to his feet and turned, smiling. “I was starting to think you sent me out here as a prank.”

Lotor smiled a little himself as their eyes met. “We’ve known each other far too long for you to really think that of me, I’d hope. That’s Ezor’s or Zethrid’s style, not mine.”

“It’s not even really theirs,” Keith said, and he crossed his arms loosely over his chest. “Ezor prefers food pranks, and Zethrid usually skips the pranks altogether and goes straight for the headlock.”

Lotor chuckled. “True.”

“But yeah, I wouldn’t have agreed to come out here if I thought you were messing with me,” Keith said, and he raised his eyebrows. “So what’s up?”

Lotor’s smile fell. He held Keith’s gaze for a moment more—a moment long enough for Keith’s stomach to drop, his own amusement trickling down to join the water at their feet—before he broke it, and strode forward to stand at Keith’s side, looking over the edge of the waterfall.

“Do you know the legend of these Falls?” Lotor asked. “The one that survived even after the civilizations that used to live on this planet perished?”

Keith shook his head. “No.”

“The Ondynian Falls were colloquially referred to as the Decision Point. Centuries ago, people would come here when they felt their lives had reached a crossroads. It was believed that the Falls themselves led to the afterlife—not just one afterlife, but every afterlife to potentially exist. Should a soul be judged unworthy, they would fall into a never-ending abyss, or be cast into their own personal Hell. But should judgment go another way, they could find themselves in eternal paradise. Those who made the decision to jump for themselves were said to have better chances at paradise; in this one instance, suicide was seen as a mark of self-confidence, of bravery. They were no longer afraid of the fate that awaited them; their readiness to face whatever the universe would deem suitable for them was seen as evidence enough of their worth.”

Lotor’s voice was perfectly even and matter-of-fact, but the longer he talked, the faster Keith’s heart pumped adrenaline through his nerves. Keith could feel his fingers digging into his crossed arms despite his Paladin armor, and he couldn’t keep the tension he felt out of his voice as he demanded, “Why are you telling me this?”

Lotor stared over the edge of the waterfall for a moment longer before he turned to meet Keith’s eyes.

“Suicide was not the only reason why people came to these falls. The Decision Point was seen as exactly that: a point, a  _place_ for making crucial decisions. Heaven or Hell, life or death—these were seen as the  _most_ crucial of decisions, yes, but not the only. The Ondynian Falls were seen as a place where one’s life would change forever, for better or worse. In centuries past, people hinged their futures on these Falls; what might seem a small affair elsewhere was viewed as a cosmic ceremony here.”

Keith relaxed, at least a fraction, and released the breath he’d been holding. “Oh. I . . . I see.”

Lotor nodded. Silence fell between them, broken only by the water rushing past their feet. Keith looked back down over the waterfall, unsure of what to say. As interesting as the legend of the Falls was, he wasn’t sure how to respond to it. He couldn’t think of any decisions he had to make that would require a ‘cosmic ceremony’ of any kind, and if Lotor had any, he hadn’t seen fit to share them. Keith glanced over to meet Lotor’s eyes, but Lotor was no longer looking at him. Instead, he was looking down at—

Keith blinked.

Lotor always carried his sword with him. That was no surprise; they could never be sure when they would be under attack, and even as they stood there at the top of the waterfall, Keith had the Black Bayard holstered and ready to draw at a moment’s notice. But while Lotor always had  _his_ sword with him, and while he had it with him now, for the first time Keith noticed that Lotor’s sword was not the only one he had hooked around his waist. There was a second sword there, fastened parallel to Lotor’s own, and it was the second sword whose hilt Lotor’s fingers now danced along, brushing against the grip for only a moment before he reached down to grasp it just beneath the guard. He gripped it tightly, and then gave it a sharp tug to pull the scabbard free from his belt. Lotor held it up for a moment, hilt pointed toward the sky above, before he flipped it horizontal and held it flat across his open palms.

“So with that in mind,” Lotor said, and it was probably the sound distortion from the waterfall, but Keith thought—it almost sounded like Lotor’s voice was shaking, just a little, “I asked you here to give you this.”

He held out the sword for Keith to take.

Keith slowly dropped his arms to his sides, gazing at the sheathed blade in Lotor’s hands. The scabbard alone was beautiful; the dark royal blue color stood out even in the luminescent, eternal night of Aulbryn, and their crest—the crest they had originally worn, back before they took the Castle of Lions and claimed Voltron—was embossed in gold at the top near the hilt, with the Voltron seal embossed in gold at the bottom. He glanced back up at Lotor, and when he saw that Lotor was still staring at him—watching,  _waiting_ —he gently took the sword.

“Go on,” Lotor said after a tick, and he clasped his hands behind his back. “Feel free to examine it. I’m certain you’ll find it suitable.”

Keith glanced at him again, and when Lotor did no more than slightly incline his head to encourage Keith to do as suggested, he slowly pulled the sword free of its scabbard.

The sword was . . . “suitable” didn’t really do it justice. The grip of the hilt was the same deep, royal blue as the scabbard, and had careful ridges crafted into it that Keith would tell would aid his grip whether he was dressed in full armor, or carrying it barehanded. The length and weight were perfect, too; the blade was the same length as the Black Bayard’s sword whenever Keith wielded it, and he could tell just by holding this new one that it was about the right weight, too. It might have even (though Keith would need to test it at least in a spar to be sure) been a little better.

But that was only half of it.

The blade itself was . . . “incredible” was the only word Keith could think of to describe it. It was double-edged, but both the edges and the tip were so sharp they were almost imperceptible to his eyes. But the blade didn’t feel weak; on the contrary, Keith could tell even through his armor that there was no risk of the blade breaking or even bending. The metal it was forged from looked dark grey at first glance, but whether it was a trick of the light emanating from Aulbryn, or something about the sword itself, the blade had a silver-white glow that caused it to shine. Keith turned his wrist to watch the light play off the blade, and it was on the third turn that he noticed words engraved (so small and fine he nearly missed them) into the blade at the base of the hilt. He raised the sword to look more closely, and there, written in the galran script, were the words:

_Not even the ancients can reclaim a lost opportunity._

“Do you like it?”

Keith looked up, startled, as Lotor’s voice cut through his attention. Lotor was watching him—was  _still_ watching him, he supposed. Lotor was examining Keith as Keith examined the sword, and Keith . . . Keith huffed an incredulous laugh as he looked back down at the blade.

“Yeah,” he said, and though he still held the scabbard in his left hand, he ran his hand down the length of the blade anyway. “It’s amazing, I . . . where’d you get it?”

“I created it.”

Keith looked up, eyes wide. “What?”

“I created it,” Lotor repeated. “I took the remnants of the trans-reality ore we used to manufacture the Sincline ships and combined it with luxite I managed to mine from the ruins of Daibazaal to forge the blade and guard. The hilt and scabbard I crafted from leather, albeit with eldravan steel woven in to make them more durable and resilient. That sword is one-of-a-kind; there isn’t another like it in the whole of the universe.” He paused, then added more quietly, “I created it—that sword—for you.”

Keith squeezed the hilt and scabbard of the sword involuntarily as his heart seized in his chest. In that moment, it wasn’t just that Aulbryn  _looked_ as though it existed underwater; it  _felt_ as though it did, too, as if Keith had been plunged beneath sea level without warning for how difficult it suddenly was to breathe. Every part of him felt electrified; he stood there, paralyzed and with his nerves tingling, for what felt like several long, weighted ticks before he was finally able to unstick his throat just enough to speak.

“Is . . . is this . . . ?”

Lotor nodded. “Yes.”

It had already felt difficult to breathe, but Lotor’s confirmation of what the sword was—of what it  _meant_ —made Keith feel as though he had what little breath remained in his lungs knocked out of him. He swallowed, and looked back down at the sword he held in his now shaking hands. It was still brand new to him, but even so, it still felt like he was now looking at it for the very first time. It was beautiful, striking,  _incredible_. It was . . . it was everything, contained in a single blade.

Keith’s hands were still shaking as he carefully slid the sword back into its scabbard. He held it close to his chest, one hand still around the hilt, the other still grasped around the sheath, before he looked up to meet Lotor’s eyes again.

“ _Me_?” he asked softly.

A muted laugh escaped Lotor as a bemused smile unfurled on his lips. “Who else?”

“I . . .” Keith began, but trailed off as he realized that even if Lotor’s response  _hadn’t_ been rhetorical, he had no answer to give. Of course there wasn’t anyone else—Keith would have been more than a little upset if there was, and particularly if  _this_ was the way he found out about it—but all the same, he . . .

“I just mean,” Keith tried again, and he made his voice a little stronger as he once again met Lotor’s eyes. Lotor’s smile had been brief; his expression was carefully neutral now, devoid of anything that might give away what he was thinking. “Are you sure? Have you thought this through?”

A ghost of a smile crossed Lotor’s expression. “If I may follow your example and be direct, I have been in love with you for about seven decaphoebs now. I have been thinking about this for a very long time.”

Keith squeezed the sword more tightly still as his heart palpitated in his chest. Hearing Lotor say that he loved him always caused his heart to jump, but now, given the circumstances . . . despite the decaphoebs they had been together, suddenly everything felt so new.

But new or not, thrill or not, it wasn’t the point, and this—this was too important to risk. He had to focus. Keith took a breath and said, “That . . . that’s not what I meant.”

“I know,” Lotor said, not missing a beat. “But believe me when I say that I have considered that as well, though it was a matter that required very little deliberation. There is no one I would rather have by my side than you, Keith. There is no one better suited to be by my side, in every capacity. No matter which way the subject is considered, it comes back to you.” Lotor paused, then added more softly, “It has always been you.”

Keith swallowed, and blinked hard to clear the sudden stinging in his eyes. He couldn’t help the rasp in his voice as he asked, “You’re really sure? You really . . . wanna marry me?”

“Yes,” Lotor said, and though there was a twinge of exasperation—or anticipation, or anxiety, or all three—in his voice, there was a hint of a smile on his lips, too. “May I?”

Keith looked back at the sword in his hands. It was elegant, breathtaking, and more than remarkable. It was . . . it was  _everything_ , contained in a single blade, and while Keith had known that before, he felt as if the reality of it was only just beginning to settle in now. He closed his eyes, and clutched it against his chest for just a moment more before he fastened it to the belt around his waist. It felt as though every nerve in his body was electrified.

When Keith looked up, it was to find Lotor truly smiling— _beaming_ —for the first time since arriving on Aulbryn. His smile was such that it was as if it wasn’t just the water around their feet, or the treetops that lined the riverbank, that glowed; his eyes were lit up, too, practically shining from the force of his smile.

Lotor nodded at the sword now strapped to Keith’s hip. “It suits y—”

His words were lost as Keith kissed him.

Keith—before Lotor had a chance to finish speaking, before Lotor had hardly said two words—pushed himself forward, up on his toes, his hands at first grasping Lotor’s shoulders to give himself the boost he needed before he looped one of his arms around Lotor’s neck to tug him down. Lotor responded in kind, immediately; he was still smiling,  _beaming_ as their lips met, and his arms encircled Keith’s waist not only to embrace him, but to  _lift_ him clear off the ground. Keith laughed into the kiss, breathless and exhilarated, as Lotor spun him around and stepped back from the edge of the waterfall, bringing them both to safety before he set Keith back on his feet.

They broke apart in a series of small kisses—two, three, four—before they settled for their foreheads together, Keith’s arms around Lotor’s neck, Lotor’s around Keith’s waist.

“I love you,” they said, both of them, breathless and simultaneous and smiling like the sun Aulbryn didn’t have, as they embraced each other once more.


End file.
